


Freedom

by MaryEllen



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen, freedomtalk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 21:50:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryEllen/pseuds/MaryEllen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father and son discussing the word "Freedom".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freedom

It seems people like my writing XD, well then here you go…

Well, after watching Django unchained (thank you tarantino for this fantastic masterpiece *.*)  
THIS popped up in my mind and don’t ask me why…or well…i mean it seems if connor never thought about the future…what he shall probably do XD  
I love commands

ps: no mothertongue and critic is moooooooooosssssssssssst appreciated!

(yepp, it’s a little bit older ;-))

______________

It was a cold day in Boston and only some few people were on the streets. Two men walked slowly, chafing their hands, longing for a hot meal in a little tavern. None of them was ordinary, neither in clothing nor in appearance. The older one, whose grey hair was covered by a huge hat, wore a blue coat with a golden sign on his bright shoulders. He did not fit into the image of these streets where normally young women in casual clothes were on their way to fetch their water, or salesman and smiths were quarrelling about a price. He seemed to be more of a blue-blood English man, and did definitely not look like a refugee trying to find his luck in the new world.  
The younger company of the still handsome old man, wore a white robe, similar to a monk. His bow, the dark hair, the boots surely made by buckskin and his somehow darker tan reminded of a Native American. Everyone did stare at these strange men, but they did not mind. Both were tired from their long journey through the woods and their longing for a soft bed and a quiet rest made them ignore the stares.

The sound of clinging chains made them turn their heads.

And Connor wished he hadn’t.  
A group of slaves, tied up, the feet red and blue from the icy snow, was falling through the street. It seemed they were on their way to being sold. Two men rode on white horses, one behind the group, one before. Finally as one of the blacks fell the whole group had to stop. The rider from the rear snarled loudly, screaming like a mad man. Silence lay down. The people walked faster, their heads down, ignoring this scene. The man from the back descended, sighing deeply. He took his whip, almost bored, into his right hand.

The Assassin moved, but suddenly he felt a cold glove on his shoulder. He looked at his father who shook his head and nodded into the opposite direction of this disgusting moment.

They went into a backyard. They could hear the screaming and shouting and Connor started to walk back.

"Connor," he listened to the low voice of his father.

"I won’t run away and abandon them to their cruel fate, just because of you doing that."  
The Native started to run.

There was a tree next to him and the Assassin heard the metal sound of a gun as a bullet was throwing its way right through the thick bark.

Silence.

The native stood still, watching the smoke out of the whole, the bullet had just formed. His father’s voice rang again in his ears, deep and terrifiying low.

"You stay, son. Did I make myself clear?"

Connor breathed heavy. Although it hadn’t been a severe attack, his body was thrilled and he shivered slightly. When he looked back, he felt the sudden urge to wring his father’s neck, or hurt him badly.

"What is your problem? I go where I want to go. I am a free man-" He stopped as he saw his father grinning softly. It was like a slap in the face. Connor felt like a child that had asked something really dumb and the adult mocked at him.  
The native still stood there and stared, his veins slowly flooding with anger. Finally the British’s smile faded, replaced by an aggressive grimace. He put his gun back, watching his son blankly.

"What do you think why I didn’t let you go?," the Templar asked gently.

The Assassin did not answer.

"Well," Haytham said, walking through the snow towards his son. "I thought you would have killed them. Correct me, if I was wrong."

Suddenly Connor did not trust his voice, so he just nodded face to face with the blue eyes of the older man who sighed deeply.

"You would have killed them. And then?"

The young man coughed slightly.

"The slaves would have been free if you-"

But the Templar interrupted him.

"Free? Like you? Don’t tell me you are free Connor. That’s ridiculous."

"What do you mean?," he asked quietly.

"Do you really think of yourself as a free man?"

The native was bewildered. A bad taste filled his mouth and an angry humming filled his head as if thousand of bees flew around him.

"If you had freed them, some other black birders would have found them and believe me they would have been sold faster than my bullet can miss your head. There is no freedom, neither for you nor for the slaves."

"You’re a liar," the young man answered.

"I wish I’d be."

"What do you want?" Connor asked harshly.

"I want you to _understand_ that there is _no freedom….never_.”

"Washington-"

"Washington seeks power! NOTHING ELSE! Do you really think he cares for your people? Do you really think he wants to free the Negros? For God’s sake Connor, WAKE UP!"

"You are just too small-minded because he is no damn Templar! You seem to have forgotten the ones who tried to steal _my freedom_ , the freedom of _my people_ were under YOUR COMMAND! Your people KILLED MOTHER! You just don’t want to accept you’ve _failed_! That these people in this country have an own mind and have the RIGHT to _seek freedom_!”

"Oh really? Of course! White men ALWAYS talk of freedom but sell slaves at the same time. Freedom for _them_ is not the topic, boy, I talk about freedom for YOU!”

Both men stared at each other, their breath choppy.  
Then the Templar buried for seconds his face in his hands.

"I never gave an order to kill your mother."

"Oh come on. I don’t need your pity," the Assassin commented rough. "Or your complaining about that finally WE, the Assassins, have had a little victory."

His father looked at him and Connor has never seen this man so furious as in that very moment.

"I do not care for this bunch of idiots talking about _freedom_. I am complaining because sooner or later, your people will have no land any more, no place to go, because the whites will settle EVERYWHERE. And to get rid of you, they will force you to became their slaves, hunt you down like animals, because for THEM your people is nothing more than HUMAN SCUM, not worth being alive. And when there is no one who can fight any more, if there is no one who can _resist_ any more and when they finally have enough Negros to fund this country, you will be put somewhere, no one can live and you will slowly rot away. In two hundred years if it comes to this country no one will remember you and your people. And I am so ANGRY because I know that you fight for nothing and that soon, you and your children will have NO CHANCE in this world. And believe me or not that fate is nothing I wish to happen to anybody and especially not to you.”

It had started to snow.

Silence.

A man came out to put his chicken in their cage. The two men did not mind him at all.

"You are wrong, father."

"This will never happen. My people will be free and one day there will be no man in chain. I promise."

A dry chuckle left the older man’s throat.

"Don’t promise anything you can’t keep, son."

 

:), leave me kudos and I will love you forever ^^


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